


The Solicitor and the Chauffeur

by Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Domestic Service, Alternate Universe - Downton Abbey Fusion, Crack Treated Seriously, Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-10-01 21:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20403493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: “Not a footman either,” Sonny told him, lifting the soup tureen and bringing it to the table. “I’m the new chauffeur.”“Are you indeed,” Rafael murmured as he carefully ladled soup into his bowl. “Then Carisi it is, though I should love to know your given name anyway.”Something about the way he said it — or maybe just the way he looked up at Sonny, his green eyes mischievous — made Sonny blush, and he hurried to return the tureen to its spot, less he accidentally drop it and make even bigger a fool of himself. “Oh, uh, it’s Dominick, m’lord, but everyone calls me Sonny.”“Sonny,” Rafael repeated, sounding amused once again. “Of course you would be.” Sonny frowned slightly but before he could ask what exactly he meant by that, Rafael continued, “And you needn’t call me ‘my lord’, I haven’t a peerage yet.”“Yet, my—I mean, uh, sir?”For some reason, the question caused Rafael’s smile to disappear. “Yes,” he said stiffly, stirring his soup with his spoon. “Truth be told, I’m engaged to be married to Lady Calhoun.”





	The Solicitor and the Chauffeur

**Author's Note:**

> I've been rewatching Downton Abbey ahead of the film coming out next month and...well, I couldn't not.
> 
> Utterly absurd.
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Mrs. Benson pursed her lips as she looked Sonny Carisi up and down where he stood in the servant’s hall in the lower level of the massive estate house, arms held stiffly at his sides. “So we asked for an experienced, professional chauffeur and they’ve sent you,” she said, skepticism clear in her tone.

Sonny couldn’t help but blush slightly under the stern look of the housekeeper. “I am experienced,” he assured her. “And I can be professional. It’s why His Lordship’s hired me, after all.”

“That certainly explains it,” Mrs. Benson murmured. “Well, if His Lordship’s approved it, there’s naught to be done, and we’ll all have to make the best of it.” She eyed him warily. “Not sure the old chauffeur’s livery will fit, as he was a bit broader in the shoulders, but—“

“I’ve got the livery from my old job I can always wear as need be,” Sonny told her brightly, relieved he wasn’t about to be thrown out on his ear.

He hadn’t lied — he was experienced, in driving cars at least. But he hadn’t had a post as a chauffeur in a great house, not like this one anyway. And his mother would kill him dead if he blew his chance working at Sutherland Valley Ulverston, ancestral home of the Buchanan family.

Still, something of what he was feeling must’ve shown on his face as Mrs. Benson looked at him carefully. “Where were you working prior to here?”

“Oh, I’ve been all over,” Sonny told her. “Yorkshire, Devon, London even, though only for about a week—“ He broke off, hesitating. “Truth is, I haven’t stayed anyplace for long.”

The lady’s maid sitting at the table in the servant’s hall let out a sharp laugh. “Seems you make friends wherever you go,” she said with a smirk.

Sonny blushed and Mrs. Benson arched an eyebrow at her. “That’s enough of that,” she chided. “Rollins, you’d best be getting upstairs and make sure Her Ladyship’s dinner clothes are set for tonight.” She turned back to Sonny. “As for you, you’d best come with me. Mr. Dodds will want to meet you.”

Though Sonny followed Mrs. Benson automatically, he couldn’t help but ask, “Mr. Dodds?”

“He’s the butler here, and head of the staff,” Mrs. Benson told him. “Well, the male staff at least, and I see to the women staff. His office is just—”

She broke off as a harried-looking man roughly her own age and with thick eyebrows emerged from a door up ahead, his expression troubled. “Mrs. Benson, we’ve a real problem—” he started, pausing when he caught sight of Sonny. “Ah, who’s this?”

Mrs. Benson glanced at Sonny, her look enough for him to straighten automatically. “This is Sonny Carisi, the new chauffeur,” she told the man who could only be Mr. Dodds.

The man who looked distinctly unimpressed as he gave Sonny a once over. “Is he even old enough to drive?” he asked, bemused, and Sonny bristled.

“I am, sir, and—”

Dodds ignored him. “Nicholas is in bed, ill,” he informed Mrs. Benson. “Which means we’ve no one to serve the luncheon.”

“They’re all still down in London, aren’t they?” Mrs. Benson asked, surprised. “Whoever are we serving luncheon to? Does Mrs. Warner know she’s meant to be putting something together?”

Mr. Dodds nodded. “I told her early this morning and she said she would get some soup on. But Lady Calhoun has a guest in, Mr. Barba. She wrote to expect him this evening but apparently he caught an early train.”

“Oh, Mr. Barba,” Mrs. Benson said, nodding her head as if she knew him well. “It’s getting serious then, if he’s back so soon.”

Mr. Dodds just sighed. “I personally choose not to speculate,” he said officiously. “Not when we’ve more important things to deal with, such as the luncheon with no footman.”

Mrs. Benson rolled her eyes. “Then it seems you’ll have to serve the luncheon yourself with no speculation whatsoever.”

“I cannot,” Mr. Dodds said with a scowl. “His Lordship wants me to receive a shipment of wine he’s had sent over from France, and they’re due to arrive in an hour.”

“Then one of the lady’s maids—”

“A lady’s maid?” Mr. Dodds repeated, scandalized. “For a guest? The shame—”

Mrs. Benson clucked her tongue. “Everything’s changed after the war, Mr. Dodds, and I’m certain Mr. Barba won’t mind—”

“I can do it.”

Sonny wasn’t sure what exactly possessed him to volunteer himself, and judging by the look both Mr. Dodds and Mrs. Benson gave him, they didn’t either. “Have you ever served as a footman?” Mr. Dodds asked, doubt heavy in his voice.

“No,” Sonny said, feeling foolish. 

Mr. Dodds’ scowl deepened. “Then I think not.”

Again Mrs. Benson rolled her eyes, though her tone was almost placating when she said, “Come now, Mr Dodds, it’ll be soup and bread. Even Carisi can manage that.”

Sonny wasn’t entirely sure if he should take offense at that, but Mr. Dodds beat him to it. “He’d too tall to be a footman,” he declared in a final sort of way.

But Mrs. Benson just looked at him evenly. “It’s either Carisi or lady’s maid. Your choice.”

“Fine,” Mr. Dodds snapped after only a moment of hesitation more. “But if I hear you’ve spilled soup all over Lady Calhoun’s guest, I shall personally guarantee you leave here with no reference and no chance of future employment in this century. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Sonny said meekly, watching him storm back into his office.

Mrs. Benson sighed and shook her head. “Don’t mind him,” she told Sonny, gesturing for him to follow her once more. “Mr. Dodds had a hard war. He buried a wife and his son never returned from France.”

Sonny nodded slowly, far too familiar with how many young men his age had never returned from the war. “Don’t worry,” he said, giving her a tight smile, “I learned long ago not to take it personally.”

For some reason, she seemed to find that statement amusing. “I’m sure you have,” she said with a chuckle, pushing the door to the servant’s hall open and ushering him in. “Livery will be in the cupboard under the stairs, and there should be an old footman’s uniform in there you can wear for luncheon.”

“Is there only the one footman, then?” he asked as he followed her back into the servant’s hall.

She nodded. “There is, though His Lordship’s valet also acts as footman for large parties.”

“And he can’t help today?”

Something darkened in Mrs. Benson’s face. “I’m afraid not. Mr. Tutuola has the day off.”

“He got the day off when there’s guests and the family’s just getting back?” Rollins asked, having not moved from where she was when Mrs. Benson scolded her before. “How’s that?”

Mrs. Benson sighed impatiently. “Because despite the inherently farcical nature of a story such as this, the author couldn’t stomach the idea of actually portraying the only remaining substantive man of color waiting on predominantly white characters.”

Rollins and Sonny stared at her. “Huh?” Sonny asked blankly.

“Because the decisions of running this household are far above either of your pay grades,” Mrs. Benson snapped. “Carisi, if you’re to be up to serve luncheon you need get changed now. And Rollins, if I see you down here again before dinner I’ll put you to work in the kitchen.”

Rollins scowled but stood, glancing Sonny up and down. “You’re serving luncheon?” she asked.

Sonny straightened his shoulders. “Yes I am,” he told her, and Rollins’s scowl was quickly replaced by a smirk.

“Well, then,” she said. “Good luck with that.”

And she was gone before he could ask her what exactly she meant by that.

* * *

Sonny did his best to keep his shoulders and back straight as he waited for Lady Calhoun’s guest to arrive in the dining room. It seemed a bit silly to him that one man would be eating at the long table meant for easily two dozen guests, but he supposed it wasn’t his place to say anything.

That was the mark of service, really — knowing that it wasn’t your place to say much of anything at all.

He glanced up at the clock above the mantle, wondering how long the soup in the tureen would stay warm, and he was just about to turn and check on the soup when the door opened and he quickly snapped to attention. A dark-haired man in a suit bustled in, carrying a newspaper in one hand and a briefcase in another. “Is that soup I smell?” he asked, and Sonny blinked, unsure if he was meant to answer the question. “I hope you don’t mind if I do some work while I eat. It’s just that it’s dreadfully boring to eat by oneself and I imagine you’re not much of a talker.”

“I dunno, m’lord, I think my mother would tell you otherwise.” The words were out of Sonny’s mouth before he could stop them and he blanched, panic flaring as Mr. Barba set his briefcase down on the table, an amused smirk lifting the corners of his mouth. “Um, begging your pardon, m’lord.”

“Nothing to pardon,” Mr. Barba said easily, still looking amused as he sat down. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Yes, m’lord,” Sonny told him.

Mr. Barba studied him carefully. “Well, my name is Rafael Barba, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance…?”

He trailed off expectantly and it took Sonny a moment to realize that Rafael was waiting for him to introduce himself. “Oh, um, you can call me Carisi, sir.”

“No Mister?” Rafael asked mildly, pulling the napkin from its ring and smoothing it across his lap.

Sonny shook his head. “No, m’lord, I’m not a valet.”

Rafael cocked his head slightly. “Then your given name, if you’re a footman.”

“Not a footman either,” Sonny told him, lifting the soup tureen and bringing it to the table. “I’m the new chauffeur.”

“Are you indeed,” Rafael murmured as he carefully ladled soup into his bowl. “Then Carisi it is, though I should love to know your given name anyway.”

Something about the way he said it — or maybe just the way he looked up at Sonny, his green eyes mischievous — made Sonny blush, and he hurried to return the tureen to its spot, less he accidentally drop it and make even bigger a fool of himself. “Oh, uh, it’s Dominick, m’lord, but everyone calls me Sonny.”

“Sonny,” Rafael repeated, sounding amused once again. “Of course you would be.” Sonny frowned slightly but before he could ask what exactly he meant by that, Rafael continued, “And you needn’t call me ‘my lord’, I haven’t a peerage yet.”

“Yet, my—I mean, uh, sir?”

For some reason, the question caused Rafael’s smile to disappear. “Yes,” he said stiffly, stirring his soup with his spoon. “Truth be told, I’m engaged to be married to Lady Calhoun.”

“Congratulations, m’lord,” Sonny said automatically, wincing when he realized his mistake. “I mean, uh—”

Rafael waved a hand. “I know what you mean,” he said with a sigh. 

Sonny hesitated. “It’s probably not my place,” he started, “but, uh, you don’t seem…” He paused, searching for the most tactful way of putting it, and Rafael barked a laugh.

“Enthused?” he supplied, and Sonny shrugged, picking up the tray of bread to offer Rafael, who sighed again as he selected a piece. “Truth be told, it’s a strategic match more than anything. I need a title, and Lady Calhoun needs my money.”

“Your money, sir?”

Rafael gave Sonny a wan smile. “My family’s money, more accurately,” he allowed. “I’m a solicitor, so I do a steady business, but I came into some money when my grandmother passed. A small fortune, if I’m to be frank, though you’d never have known my grandmother was sitting on it from her lifestyle.”

“No great house, then?” Sonny couldn’t help but ask.

Rafael laughed dryly. “Hardly,” he assured Sonny. “A simple flat in London, and north of the park at that. But she invested shrewdly over the years, and it appears to have paid off.” He made a face. “And just in time, too, or I fear I’d’ve remained a bachelor for the entirety of my days.”

Sonny couldn’t quite stop himself from laughing. “You say that as if it would be the end of the world to remain a bachelor when not even five years ago it’d’ve been unthinkable for a person in service to be wed while still working.” Rafael’s eyes snapped to his and Sonny winced, realizing he’d spoken out of turn. “Begging your pardon, sir.”

“No pardon needed,” Rafael told him, studying Sonny with an unreadable look on his face. “And what of you, have you no marriage prospects on your horizons? No young farm maid to sweep off her feet?”

“I’m afraid not, sir,” Sonny told him, and when Rafael still stared at him, he quickly cast about for some topic to change the subject. “Pardon me for asking, sir, but why is Lady Rita called Lady Calhoun? Is she not a Buchanan?”

Rafael shook his head. “No,” he said, finishing his soup and leaning back in his seat. “No, she is a cousin of the Earl of Buchanan, not that it matters. Calhoun is a title she inherited from her mother’s side, and due to a particularly tricky bit of inheritance law, it’s a title she holds in absentia until she marries, at which point it will become her husband’s.” 

“Meaning yours,” Sonny said, and he couldn’t help but tease, “Rafael Calhoun. I do like the sound of it, sir.”

This time, when Rafael laughed, it sounded more genuine than before. “It’s not a surname,” he said. “I’ll still be Rafael Barba, but now I’ll be Viscount of Calhoun.” He made a face. “I can only imagine what my law clients will think of the addition.”

“Do you mean to keep working, sir?” Sonny asked, genuinely curious, clearing Rafael’s bowl from the table. “Only I thought great lords weren’t meant to have an occupation.”

Rafael shrugged, setting his napkin on the table. “Perhaps not, but I think it wouldn’t surprise anyone if I wasn’t exactly a great lord. Not even a title can fix that. To most, I will always be no more than a solicitor, regardless of what title I get from my wife.”

Something bitter crept into his tone, and while he’d never know what inspired him to say it, Sonny blurted, “I dunno, sir, I think I’d rather be a solicitor than a viscount.”

For a moment, Rafael just stared at him, mouth hanging open slightly. Then a small grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “Well, that’s a ringing endorsement of the profession if ever I’ve heard it.”

Sonny blushed but carried on doggedly. “I mean it, though,” he said earnestly. “I left school when I was 14 but I always liked reading, liked puzzles — Lord knows I like to argue, and more than one person’s told me I like to hear myself talk. Seems like a solicitor might be a good way to put all that to use.”

Rafael’s smile widened. “Do you know, I think you might be correct about that,” he said, propping his chin on his hand as he examined Sonny. “And why did you not pursue it?”

Sonny shrugged, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “Oh, well...I’m the only son of four, see, and my parents…”

He trailed off and Rafael straighted, his smile fading. “Of course,” he said. “You needn’t say more. I understand.” Sonny ducked his head, ready to tell Rafael that he was going to clear the dishes and take them downstairs, but then Rafael asked, something almost gentle in his tone, “So you became a chauffeur instead?”

“Service seemed like a good enough life, and I can send my parents some of my wages,” Sonny told him. “I’m not cut out for a footman, clearly, and haven’t the experience to be a valet, but I was lucky that the old man who lived next door to my parents’ farm taught me to drive before he passed.” He forced a smile. “And now it’s my only marketable skill.”

“But nothing compared to your childhood dream of becoming a solicitor.”

Sonny snorted. “Truth be told, sir, when I was growing up I wanted to be a priest.”

Rafael choked on an ill-timed sip of tea, and when he reemerged, he was laughing. “A priest? Dare I ask what put you off of that career path?”

“Remember what I said about liking to argue?”

Rafael laughed again, the sound bright enough to bring the smile back to Sonny’s face. “I can see how that might put you off the profession,” he said, grinning. “And I imagine my childhood priest could swap horror stories with yours.”

It was Sonny’s turn to laugh. “Bit of a troublemaker in your day, sir?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“I’m deeply insulted at the implication that it’s not still my day,” Rafael said with a chuckle, looking at Sonny appraisingly. “So you found yourself becoming a chauffeur. But I sense a life of driving cars is not one you’ll relish.”

Sonny shrugged again. “It’s good work, sir, steady work and I’ll not complain about that. But no, care don’t do much for me save as a means of getting from point A to point B.” He made a face. “Might be why I can never seem to stick around a place for long.”

Rafael drained his cup of tea and Sonny hurried to get him more, mostly in the vain hope that the conversation might be drawn out for at least a few minutes longer. He couldn’t say why, but he was enjoying speaking with Rafael — that is, Mr. Barba — far more than he had imagined was possible for him to enjoy speaking with a lord. Though it was just the fact that Rafael wasn’t a lord yet, though Sonny had a completely unfounded feeling that a title wouldn’t change Rafael much.

As Sonny refilled his cup, Rafael looked up at him. “You’re traveled frequently, then?” he asked, and Sonny got the feeling that he was not the only one looking to draw out the conversation.

“Not sure traveling’s the right way to put it,” he hedged. “But yes. All over England, really, and even a stint in Ireland and Scotland.”

“So just Wales, then, and your all-country tour of the UK is complete,” Rafael noted, and Sonny made a face.

“As you say, though I’m rather hoping not to complete it. Provided I last out the day here, at least.”

His tone turned almost mournful for that last statement and Rafael cocked his head slightly. “Is your position here so tenuous, then?” he asked, sounding surprised.

Sonny shook his head, and decided to throw caution to the wind, perching on the edge of the table, just a little too close to Rafael to be entirely casual.. “No, but I’ve a horrible habit of making a right mess completely without trying.”

Rafael raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like there’s a story behind it.”

“Many stories, none of them particularly interesting,” Sonny said, and when Rafael just looked at him, he flushed slightly before sighing and relenting. “Oh, well, once I crashed the car into a pond.” Rafael laughed and Sonny smiled slightly. “Once I was asked to trim the candles and almost burned the house down.” Rafael covered his mouth with one hand, his shoulders shaking, and Sonny’s smile widened. “And once I was caught kissing—”

He broke off, looking horrified. “Kissing who?” Rafael asked, lowering his hand from his mouth.

Sonny opened his mouth before closing it again, his heart beating painfully at what he had almost revealed, and to a guest of his new employers at that. “I couldn’t say, sir,” he said stiffly.

For a moment, it looked like Rafael might push the issue, but to Sonny’s surprise, he didn’t. Which was good, because Sonny wasn’t entirely sure what the rules of propriety demanded when it came to truthfully answering a question from the fiancé of someone in the household. “Well, while getting caught kissing the kitchen maid—” Sonny blinked, his brow furrowing, and Rafael added casually, “Just a guess there.” Sonny rolled his eyes and a light smile crossed Rafael’s lips before continuing, “While getting caught was clearly your blunder, the rest—”

He was cut off by the door to the dining room being thrown open, a well-dressed woman roughly Rafael’s age sweeping inside, beaming. Sonny scrambled upright, his face burning, but thankfully, she didn’t appear to have noticed that he had been practically sitting on the table, only inches from a man who was soon to be a viscount. “Rafael, darling, Mr. Dodds said you had arrived, but I had to see it for myself.”

“Lady Rita,” Rafael said, standing and letting himself get pulled into an embrace, though Sonny couldn’t help but notice that Rafael sounded less excited than he had at any point during their conversation.

Rita pressed a kiss to his cheek before taking a step back, frowning slightly at Sonny, who suddenly realized that, in addition to his other indiscretions, he very likely wasn’t supposed to still be there. “And who’s this?” she asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

Sonny swallowed, eyes darting between her and Rafael, who clearly decided to rescue him. “This is your new chauffeur,” he told Rita. “Seems you were down a footman and Carisi here graciously offered to serve my luncheon.”

“Did he indeed,” Rita murmured, her eyes narrowing just slightly, before she glanced at the dishes Sonny had yet to take downstairs. “But wasn’t lunch done an hour ago at least? What  _ have _ you two been up to?”

Her tone was light, teasing even, but Sonny still flushed at the implication, and he dropped his eyes to the floor. “Begging your pardon, m’lady,” he muttered. “I’ll just—”

Before he could make his excuses and get out, the rest of the family came into the dining room and Sonny felt his heart sink as they all took stock of Rafael, him, and the dishes sitting where he’d abandoned them a half hour prior. “What’s all this?” Lord Buchanan asked, frowning at Sonny. “Aren’t you the chap I’ve hired to drive the car?”

“Carisi was kind enough to serve me luncheon while your footman’s taken ill,” Rafael told him, a note of warning in his voice. “And while I won’t presume to tell you how to run your house’s staff, John, it seems to me that’s something to be grateful for, not condemned.”

Buchanan stared at him, his eyes narrowed. “Won’t presume?” he rumbled, drawing himself up to his full height. “As a guest in this house, you won’t presume to tell me how to run it?”

Despite their height difference, Rafael didn’t so much as flinch when Buchanan glowered at him, just meeting his glare evenly. “No,” he said calmly. “I won’t.”

For a moment, it looked like Buchanan might strike him, and Sonny wondered if his first day on the job would really devolve into a fist fight. But then, to his surprise, Buchanan laughed, a loud, jovial laugh, clapping Rafael on the shoulder. “Oh, Rita, you have chosen well,” he told her, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “The solicitor standing up to an earl on behalf of a chauffeur. It’s practically a modern retelling of Robin Hood.”

“How gallant,” Rita said drolly, though she had been watching Sonny the entire time, and he felt himself redden even further under her gaze.

He quickly grabbed the tray of dishes and glanced at Rafael, who was smiling again, at least, though there was something unreadable in his expression. “I’d best get this downstairs,” Sonny said to no one in particular before giving Rita and Buchanan an awkward sort of half-bow. “M’lord. M’lady.”

As he practically dashed from the room, he could hear laughter behind him, and he only hoped he hadn’t completely ruined everything.

He hurried downstairs, doing his best not to drop anything, and he had just set the tray in the kitchen when he heard someone clear their throat and he whirled to find Rafael behind him. “What are you doing down here?” Sonny asked, eyes widening.

“I wanted to apologize,” Rafael told him. “I didn’t expect Rita and the rest of them to be back so soon or I’d’ve cleared out ages ago, and I…” He trailed off. “I do hope I’ve not gotten you into trouble.”

Sonny flashed him a brief smile. “I hope not, sir, for my sake as well as yours, though I suspect we’ll both be in for it if you’re caught down here.”

“Still, I hope most of all that we have time to speak more,” Rafael told him, and something about the way he said it had Sonny blushing again. “After all, you never finished your story about who you were caught kissing.”

Unless Sonny was mistaken, his eyes flickered down to Sonny’s lips, and Sonny’s blush deepened. “I promise, it is not a story worth telling.”

Rafael smiled slightly. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he told Sonny, his voice low. “And if there’s anything more I can do—”

“I believe you both have done quite enough for one day.” Both men straightened at the sound of Mrs. Benson’s voice, each with a look of guilt on his face. “Carisi, you’re needed outside to get the car put away.” Sonny nodded and glanced at Rafael before heading to the back door. Rafael ducked his head and started toward the stairs, though he paused when he heard Mrs. Benson’s voice behind him. “Not so fast, Mr. Barba. I’d like a word, if you can spare it.”

Rafael sighed and turned back to her. “Why is it that when you look at me like that, I’m reminded terribly of my mother?”

Mrs. Benson’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “Perhaps because you know you’re in for a scolding.”

“I’m rather too old for a scolding, from you especially.”

“No one’s ever too old for a scolding,” Mrs. Benson told him firmly, adding pointedly, “particularly when he’s in the wrong.”

Rafael sighed again. “And I’m in the wrong, then, Olivia?”

Mrs. Benson pursed her lips slightly. “That’s Mrs. Benson to you, sir.”

“Come now, Liv, we’ve known each other for years—”

“We have, but your position is changing, and there’s no use denying it.” For a moment, Rafael’s expression turned mutinous, as if he planned on doing just that anyway, but then he made a face and Mrs. Benson gave him a slightly pitying look. “You’ve been a guest at this house since you first made Lady Rita’s acquaintance almost twenty years ago now, and we’re honored to hear you’ll be joining the family.” Her tone turned stern. “But while I’ll not speculate on your interest in our new chauffeur, you must know it bodes particularly ill for him.”

A muscle worked in Rafael’s jaw, but his tone was deceptively light when he said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were already fond of him.”

Mrs. Benson rolled her eyes. “I don’t know him well enough to be fond of him,” she said impatiently, “and truth be told, if I had my way, he likely wouldn’t have been my choice to hire. But hired he was, which makes him one of mine.” Her sharp tone softened, just slightly, as she added, “Besides which, I can tell he’s got a good heart. And if the two of you fell out, who do you think would suffer greater for it, him or you?” Rafael shook his head but she pressed, “Do you think if it came down to it, the family would rather you call off your engagement with Lady Rita than throw a chauffeur out on his ear?”

Rafael ducked his head and was quiet for a long moment before he looked back up at her, his expression far more somber than before. “You know me too well, Mrs. Benson,” he said quietly.

She gave him a small smile. “No, sir. I suspect just well enough.”

He half-smiled. “I cannot promise he won’t seek me out,” he warned her, hesitating before adding, “Or I, him. He is good company. For a chauffeur, at least.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Mrs. Benson told him. “But at least now you’re aware of what he stands to lose.”

“I was always aware, Mrs. Benson,” Rafael said quietly. “Believe me, I am well aware.” He sighed heavily before forcing a smile. “In any case, I’d best be getting back upstairs before I’m missed.”

He turned and headed up the stairs, leaving Mrs. Benson staring after him, aware as well that this was not even close to the end of the whole mess.

* * *

Sonny scowled at the inside of the engine. There was absolutely nothing wrong with it that he could tell, but some elderly aunt or another had ridden in it a few weeks back and complained of the car ‘jerking about’, and now he was tasked with somehow fixing it.

He sighed and bent down to tighten a screw when a voice called, “Carisi”, and he straightened so quickly he almost hit his head on the hood of the car. “Oh, I hope I didn’t startle you.”

“Lady Calhoun,” Sonny managed, staring at her in her pristine coat standing in the dirty garage. “What, uh, what can I—”

“There’s no need for formalities here, Carisi,” Rita told him. “You may call me Rita.”

Sonny worried his lower lip between his teeth. “I’d best not do that, m’lady,” he said, a little roughly. “Not when I’m already in hot water as it is.”

Rita looked surprised. “Oh, what, that business with the luncheon?” she asked, her brow furrowing. “Nonsense, it’ll be forgotten by the time they ring the gong for dinner.”

She gave him a smile that he didn’t return. “Still, I—” He rubbed his hands on his pants, trying to wipe the grease off. “I rather hope to make a go of things here, and I’m certain it’d be for the best if I don’t get too much out of line.”

Rita’s eyes narrowed. “That is a shame.”

“M’lady—”

“Only I had gotten the impression that you wished to get out of line with my fiancé.”

She said it pleasantly enough but Sonny felt like ice had suddenly gripped his heart and he stared at her, steadying himself against the car. “I don’t—” he croaked, and something of what he was feeling must’ve shown on his face before her smile disappeared.

“I promise I will say nothing—” she started, at the same time he blurted, “Please, m’lady, I know I was being too familiar with him, and I know you’ve no reason to give me a second chance, but I really do believe that I could do good things here, and—”

“Oh, God, you cannot think that I would wish to make you lose your position,” Rita interrupted, looking horrified. “It is the last thing that I would want.”

Sonny ducked his head, swallowing hard. “It wouldn’t be the first time, m’lady,” he muttered. “I’ve been let go before for—” He broke off, searching for a delicate way to phrase it, before settling rather lamely on, “For not being Catholic enough.”

Despite his vague words, understanding seemed to dawn in Rita’s expression. “I promise you, Carisi, as far as I’m concerned, your — Catholicism, shall we say — shall never be cause for your dismissal from this household.” She lifted her chin slightly. “Not while I’ve anything to say about it.”

“Thank you, m’lady,” he murmured, eyes firmly on the ground.

“But it is what I wished to discuss with you.”

His eyes flickered up to hers. “M’lady?”

“My fiancé—” She broke off, making a face. “it is strange to call him that, even now.” She shook her head before continuing, “Rafael is my dearest friend. But I do not love him, not in the way of the romance novels I used to sneak from my lady’s maid when I was growing up.” Sonny didn’t move, waiting for her to get to her point. “And as for Rafael, well...let us merely say he too is not Catholic enough. But while I do not love him, I must marry him. And since I must marry him, I want him to be happy.” She paused before adding gently, “Even if that happiness is not wholly with me.”

“M’lady, I’m sure I don’t know—” Sonny started automatically, but she cut him off.

“And I’m certain that you do.” She looked at him evenly. “I have not seen him smile the way he did today in years, and I know I’ve you to thank for that. And so long as you keep making him smile like that, I hope you’ll be content to stay, Carisi.”

Again Sonny ducked his head, but this time, it was to try and hide the smile that had rather inadvertently broken across his face. “Thank you, m’lady,” he told her, before throwing all caution to the wind and adding, “Oh, and, m’lady? If you were serious about no need for formalities, perhaps you might call me Sonny.”

Rita laughed lightly. “Perhaps I will.” She turned to go, then paused. “And to make this an official visit, we’ll be finishing up with dinner around 9. Please be sure to have the car pulled around to take our guests home.”

Sonny nodded, though he could not help but ask, a little hopefully, “Does Mr. Barba stay here when he visits, or will he need a ride to his lodging as well?”

“No, usually he stays at the dower house on the far edge of the property,” Rita said. “Now that Grandmama’s gone, it’s nice for it to get a little use, and he says he doesn’t like to put the servants off their schedule with the late hours he keeps when he’s working.” Her smile turned slightly conspiratorial. “Personally, I just think he likes to get away from John — Lord Buchanan, that is.” She winked at Sonny. “But I imagine he’ll tell you all about it when you give him a ride home tonight.”

Sonny’s smile widened. “Thank you, m’lady.”

“And thank you, Sonny.”

He watched her walking back down toward the house and could not help but feel like perhaps he was going to find a way to belong here after all.

* * *

At nine o’clock on the nose, Sonny pulled the car around to the front of the house, entirely unsurprised to see Rafael waiting for him, dressed impeccably in a crisp black dinner jacket. “Pardon my late arrival, Mr. Barba,” he said, getting out to open the door for him and trying not to stare.

But Rafael made no move to get into the car, just smiling slightly at Sonny. “You’re not late,” he assured him. “But Rita hinted if I wanted another chance to speak with you without being interrupted, now might be as good an opportunity as either of us is bound to get.”

For a moment, it looked like he was going to say something more, but then he seemed to change his mind, clearing his throat before adding, a little gruffly, “If you were serious about wanting to learn a bit of law, perhaps I could teach you.”

Sonny blinked. “Really, sir?” he asked, trying not to sound as eager as he felt.

Rafael’s smile widened. “Seems the very least, I could do, to make up for whatever trouble I may have gotten you in earlier.”

Sonny made a face. “It was nothing,” he assured him. “And, uh, begging your pardon, sir—”

“If I’m to teach you, perhaps you could call me Rafael,” he interrupted. “At least when we’re alone.”

“No need for formalities,” Sonny muttered, thinking of what Rita had said to him earlier that day. “In that case, Rafael, why would you wish to teach me? I’m just the chauffeur.”

Rafael looked at him carefully, his expression unreadable. “It is a changing world we live in,” he said after a long moment. “I’m as much an example of that as any. And it stands to reason you may not always be a chauffeur.” His expression softened, just slightly. “Besides, let us simply say that I see something of myself in you. A kindred spirit.”

There could be little mistaking was Rafael meant, and Sonny wet his lips with his tongue before blurting, “It wasn’t the kitchen maid. That I was caught kissing, I mean.”

“No?” Rafael asked, amused.

“No. It...it was a footman.”

The last word came out as barely a whisper, the words he’d feared speaking out loud hanging between them, and for one moment, despite everything Rita had said, despite all Rafael had implied, Sonny felt terrified of what he might say.

But Rafael’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “That’s a big secret to confess,” he said evenly.

Sonny ducked his head. “And yet it’s no more a crime than anything else I’ve said to you today,” he said, his voice rough. “Besides, I...I’m not worried. Not with you.”

A smile lifted the corners of Rafael’s mouth. “Well in that case, I admire your…”

He trailed off, searching for the words, and Sonny grinned. “Suicidal streak?” he supplied.

Rafael laughed lightly. “Something of the sort,” he said. “And I shall endeavor to ensure your trust is not misplaced.” He cleared his throat, his tone turning brisk. “What happened with your footman, after?”

“Oh, um, he...well, see, Bobby — that was his name, Bobby Bianchi — At first he and I were on good terms but then someone from the village caught us.” Sonny swallowed, remembering far too well all that had transpired. “And he — well, he claimed I was attacking him, and he…”

Sonny trailed off and Rafael nodded slowly. “He attacked you in return?” he asked, somewhat dully.

“He put my face through a glass window in the house,” Sonny told him softly. “They took the cost of repairing the window out of my final paycheck, to add insult to injury.” He cocked his head slightly as he looked at Rafael. “How’d you guess?”

“Let’s just say I’ve had a run in with a few Bobby Bianchis in my day,” Rafael said, and for the first time, Sonny noticed that his hand was clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone white, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself, reaching out almost automatically to touch Rafael’s hand, to brush his fingers along the sharp lines of his clenched fist until slowly, his hand uncurled, his fingers tangling with Sonny’s. 

Rafael looked down at their hands before looking back at Sonny, something unreadable in his expression. “I must warn you,” he said, his voice low, “for the moment, this can go no further than me teaching you the law on some evenings when you find yourself free and I’ve no work or obligations to the Buchanans. But when I marry Lady Calhoun, as I have no land or titles of my own, I would move here full-time.” He searched Sonny’s expression for moment. “Do you understand?”

Sonny nodded. “I understand,” he said. “And I shall be happy learning law for the moment, with an eye on whatever the future may bring.”

Despite his words, something darkened in Rafael’s expression. “Would you not be better off finding some kitchen girl and making her happy?” he asked, a little desperately.

“She might be happy, at least for a little bit, but I would never be,” Sonny told him, his voice low, and he hesitated before adding, something breathless, “Not like I would be with you. With whatever you could give me.”

He did not know which of them closed the space between them, knew only that he had never known perfection like he did in the moment when his lips met Rafael’s, when Rafael’s hand grasped the lapel of his chauffeur’s jacket, pulling him even closer, when his own hand tangled in Rafael’s hair.

He had just enough coherent thought left to wonder vaguely what they must look like, two men kissing in front of the massive house where anyone could see them when Rafael broke away, slightly flushed. “I...apologize,” he said, strangely formal despite how breathless he sounded as he smoothed his clothing. “I should not have done that.”

“I’m as much to blame as you,” Sonny told him, but Rafael shook his head.

“I could ruin you,” he said, his words stark in the night air, but part of Sonny was past caring. 

His conversation with Rita that afternoon had showed him that for the first time in a very long time, he had a chance. He had a possible future, no matter how unconventional it might be. And he be damned if he’s let Rafael throw that away before either of them got a chance to enjoy it.

“Or I could ruin you,” he pointed out instead, his voice even.

Rafael’s eyes flickered up to his and seemingly almost despite himself he reached out to lace his fingers again with Sonny’s. “You have much more to lose than I,” he said softly.

Sonny cocked his head. “Do I?”

Rafael sighed. “Sonny—”

But whatever protest he was going to make was forestalled by Rita calling from the doorway, “Rafael, have you not yet gone?”

Rafael took a step away from Sonny, his hand falling to his side. “Not yet,” he called in return, forcing a smile as Rita led an elderly gentleman out from the house. “I’m afraid I got caught up having you man here tell me about his travels.”

Rita’s smile was a little too knowing. “Then I suppose you won’t mind sharing the car with Mr. McCoy,” she said sweetly. “He’s just going to village.”

“Not at all,” Rafael said, stepping back so Sonny could help Mr. McCoy into the car. “Lady Rita, I will see you on the morrow.”

“I’m certain you will,” Rita said with amusement, kissing Rafael’s cheek. “Carisi, see him home safely.”

“Yes, m’lady,” he said before turning to offer Rafael his hand to help him into the car.

“We must continue our conversation at a later time,” Rafael said, his hand lingering in Sonny’s for just a moment longer than was proper.

“Yes, sir,” Sonny told him with a slight smile. “I look forward to it.”


End file.
